


The Groundsetter’s Daughter

by Douglas_the_Bruce



Category: BUJOLD Lois McMaster - Works, Sharing Knife - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Malice - Freeform, groundshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Douglas_the_Bruce/pseuds/Douglas_the_Bruce
Comments: 16
Kudos: 28





	The Groundsetter’s Daughter

**Introduction**

This story is set in a science fiction universe created by Lois McMaster Bujold. it is called the “Sharing Knife” or “Wide Green World” milieu. Overall, the society is something similar to what one would see in the Ohio River valley in the early 1800’s, but at a lower level of scientific and industrial advancement - in particular, no gunpowder.

The people in the Sharing Knife World are much reduced from their progenitors, mage-sorcerers who may also have been scientists, who created vast advanced civilizations, and who were capable of manipulating matter down to the molecular level merely by the power of mind. While only rumors of these ancestors persist, some of their descendants retain the ability to heal – and hurt – human bodies through their telekinetic powers, even though those powers are a minute fraction of their ancestors’. Not all humans retain these powers; only the group called “Lakewalkers,” descendants of the ancient techno-mages, have them.

Lakewalkers refer to their abilities in terms of “ground,” an energy that underlies everything. Living things have more ground than unliving things; Lakewalkers use their “groundsense” to perceive, manipulate, and gift ground to heal people and change the characteristics of physical items. The more gifted Lakewalkers can move a small item just by manipulating its ground, make rope that can’t break, or make a coat that repels arrows, for instance.

In addition to Lakewalkers, the Wide Green World has farmers, merchants, and a very few manufacturers—mostly of things like brick and glass, although other artisans/manufacturers are appearing in the larger towns or cities. Lakewalkers typically refer to all these groups as “farmers.”

Lakewalkers have a common mission, which shapes their culture and destiny: to slay all instances of a poisoned legacy of their ancestors: the inhuman, powerful deadly creatures called malices, which eat ground and enslave humans, and, more generally, to protect people from malices. The urgency of this mission leads Lakewalker society to strongly discourage intermarrying with farmers, or even very much social contact. Lakewalkers who intermarry are almost always cast out from Lakewalker society.

Malices spring up randomly, and by eating ground from nearby animals and humans, develop animal-like and human-like shapes. Given malices’ random distribution, their first slaves are almost always animals, which are then shaped via the malice’s ground powers into human-like “mudmen.” The only known way to kill a malice is with a ground-made tool called a “sharing knife.” Short of killing a malice, adult Lakewalkers can shield their ground from malices; their children and non-Lakewalkers cannot do so themselves, but must rely on a “groundshield” necklace, made in much the same as a sharing knife. One of the characters in this story, Dag, invented the groundshield necklaces.

The protagonist in this story, Nattie-Mari, is the first-born daughter of an unlikely marriage between farmer Fawn and Lakewalker Dag, who overcome a great deal to be together. Dag is renowned for the groundshield necklace, and for his many kills of malices. In the Bujoldian canon, we see Nattie-Mari only as a young baby, perhaps 3 to 9 months old. As this story begins, it’s unclear how much of her father’s groundsense abilities Nattie-Mari has inherited. As far as I know, this is one of the first fan-fictions to feature her. As with my prior work set in a Bujoldian universe, the core of this story came to me in a dream.

My thanks to my amazing beta readers: Valerie, Jane, and Chris. All settings and characters belong to Lois McMaster Bujold, to whom I’m grateful.

* * *

**The Groundsetter’s Daughter**

Nattie-Mari sat next to her father. On the table in front of them, next to a knife and a lit candle, sat a braided loop made up of her hair and some hairs taken from a horse’s tail, with a walnut woven into it.

“Alright, Eldest,” his deep voice rumbled. “Go ahead and take….”

“Pa, I know, I know!” she said. “Heat the blade of the knife in the flame to purify it, wait for it to cool, make a small cut on the back of your arm, lengthwise, and squeeze enough blood – maybe half a pea big – and put that blood into the shield necklace. That’s when I have to do the rest of the groundwork. The part you left for me to do.”

“Well, if it tweren’t for the need of my blood, you’d hardly need me at all, sounds like. Maybe you should go to Pearl Riffle camp tomorrow to train up their medicine tent apprentice as a groundshield maker?” he teased.

“Pa” she protested. You know I haven’t done a lick of groundwork on this shield – you’ve done it all, so far. I don’t even know if I _can_. You say my groundsense is coming in strong, but all I ever get are these flickers – those might just as well be gas.”

“Trust me,” her father replied, “what you call flickers are a key part of the work _we’ve_ done on this groundshield-to-be, whether you sense it clearly or not. Asides, I’ve been working with young Lakewalkers about 4 times more than you’ve been alive, and I can see you’re right on track – maybe even a little earlier than most. Before long those flickers will grow into full-fledged ground sense. You just be patient.”

“Pa, I’m _tired_ of being patient. Maybe if I ever had a chance to be _with_ those other young Lakewalkers, maybe then I’d know something about my own groundsense. I know you want to protect me from Grandma Cumbia and Uncle Dar, but I’m 15 years old, and I can protect myself!”

“Eldest, I’d put you up against a bear or an alligator in an instant, but they are _tame_ compared to my mother and brother. I don’t want to see you have the same kind of grief your mother experienced.” He glanced across to his wife Fawn, who tilted her head a bit, her expression clearly saying, “This is _your_ conversation, darling.”

He changed tack. “Anyway, we’re here to make a groundshield. Let’s try that first, hmm?” he replied.

“Sure,” Nattie-Mari said with a grin. “So you want me to cut you now? Sounds good!”

“It might be less painful than this conversation,” he muttered. He had pitched it just loudly enough for Fawn to hear, judging by the small grin that tugged one corner of her mother’s mouth. “I’m ready,” he said. “Go ahead.”

She rolled the sleeve up his left arm, and took the knife from the sheath at her waist. She slowly passed the blade’s edge through the flame twice, and once more for luck – her own superstition. Holding the knife in the air so the blade didn’t touch anything, she counted out a minute, waiting for it to cool down.

She took her father’s left arm in her left hand and made a small cut with the knife in her right. She really was scared to hurt him, despite her bravado – she hoped he knew that. The cut made, she put the knife on the table and squeezed his arm to force the blood. As it began to ooze out, she released his arm and reached for the groundshield necklace with both hands.

As her father started to speak, she said impatiently, “I know! Not too much blood, and in the middle of the necklace! I know! Be quiet!”

He closed his mouth, and looked at her with exaggerated silent anticipation, pushing his eyebrows further and further upward and pursed his lips together as she worked the blood into the necklace. Finally, she couldn’t resist laughing at the silly expression on his face. “Oh, Pa, you know I’m not really mad at you. I’m just anxious about getting this groundshield to work – it’s the first one on my own after all this time helping you.” Her father kept his lips pursed together and shook his head.

“Ok, go ahead and talk,” she said.

“How about you go ahead and make this groundshield while the blood’s still damp – that’s the easiest time to weave the ground into it,” he said. “No point in making this harder than need be. Sound good?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth together. _This was it_. After all her preparation, helping Pa out on groundshield after groundshield, weaving the fibers together, doing what he said was groundwork on the nuts, she could _finally_ do it herself. She felt inwardly for one of those flickers, and did what felt like pushing, with what felt like her groundsense. Hard. Harder. _Hardest_. She stopped then, not sure if she’d done anything, and opened her eyes. The groundshield necklace looked the same, but…. She looked up at her Pa. _Oh, no_.

He was looking at her with sadness. “Almost, Eldest. I could feel the ground starting to move, but it didn’t quite…”

Her voice quivered, but was cold. “That’s a _lie_. I didn’t do a thing. If I had, that would be a groundshield, not, not _trash_. Why did you let me make such a fool of myself? You _knew_ I wasn’t ready for this.” She stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Dag slumped, trying to think of what he could have done differently. Fawn gave him a sympathetic look. “You know, she’s _almost_ as prideful and stubborn as you were when we met,” she said. She paused; Dag rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Good thing she got so many of your finer qualities, too.”

Dag laughed ruefully. “You mean like taking the bark off my elders?” He shifted in his chair, and sighed. “You know, she has a point. Maybe if I hadn’t encouraged her so much, she would have waited a bit longer, and her groundsense would have come in more fully.” He looked sideways at Fawn. “I thought she was ready, but maybe I was fooling myself.”

His wife stood up, walked over, and sat down next to him. “Darling, I know it isn’t in you to cripple Nattie-Mari by lying to her or doing the groundwork yourself and telling her she’d done it. So exactly what were you doing just now?”

“I was watching her. I was hopeful for her, and feeling a bit proud at what a fine young woman she’s becoming,” he said.

“Mmm. And what were you doing with your groundsense?”

There was a long pause. “I was….observin’.”

“And what exactly were you observin’?”

“What Nattie-Mari was doing with her groundsense.” This was followed by a frown, and another long pause.

Fawn sighed. “And what _was_ she doing?”

Now it was Dag’s turn to sigh. “I don’t understand it. She was doing fine. She was pushing the ground from my blood into the groundshield, sparking it into, well, I wouldn’t call it life or flame, but maybe _flow_. I could see the groundshield was starting to go, and right then she just stopped. You saw the rest. I…don’t understand it,” he repeated.

“Then imagine up a reason,” she said. “Pretend that it’s someone else, not your daughter who you love beyond words, and who you are prouder of than you are of inventing groundshields, or not losing any patrollers at Bonemarsh, or even of becoming a groundsetter. Pretend it’s someone you don’t know, and you heard that they pulled back from doing something you know they could do.”

That one sank home. His face took on that distracted look she knew so well. “Well,” he said. I _have_ seen suchlike before, with young patrollers about to make their first malice kill. They’re keen on patrol, never a stitch of trouble, willing to take on extra work, good hunters. You’d think that they’d have less trouble with the malice kill. And most of them do! But every so often there’s one what runs on their nerves, and when they get up to the malice they just freeze. After I saw it two or three times, I saw that it wasn’t fear of the malice, it was fear that they would mess up. But Nattie-Mari…”

“But me no buts. Or am I going to have to haul out a big stick to use on that thick donkey skull of yours?”

“Fawn, on this trail I am lost with nary spoor nor footprint nor scent. I _know_ she can do this. What is there for her to be afraid of?” he asked.

“Now that’s a good question, only it’s not what, it’s _who_ ,” she replied. “You, of course.”

Fawn cut off his rising protests in midstream. “Who has she followed around since she could walk? Who always asks for more Pa tales? Who was it that would stab the rising bread, pretending she was killing a malice?” Even in his misery, Dag chuckled at this, remembering Nattie-Mari creeping upon on the bread bowl. “You, always you. Mind you, I’m not complaining; Nattie-Mari is dearer to me than my own heart, and she and I are close as any mama could hope for. But you’ve always been the one she took after, and you’re the shining star in her eye.” Fawn paused.

“She’s not afraid of failing with a _groundshield_ ; she’s afraid of failing _you_ , of not being as good as she imagines you were, or as she imagines you want her to be. She knows she’s the daughter of the famous slayer of malices and inventor of groundshields. She knows that Lakewalkers have _obligations_ , to protect all of our futures against malices. And she wonders if she is up to them, if a half-blood who’s heard the idle tales and gossip at Hickory Lake and Pearl Riffle, about _farmers_ , and _half-bloods_ , can ever be good to meet those obligations. And she worries whether the glances she gets from patrollers who stop here for an afternoon or a night mean that they hope she’s good enough, or are fears that she’s _not_.”

“That’s why she complains about not going out on patrol. That’s why she wants to spend time at Hickory Lake. And that’s why she’s been working so close with you these last months, helping you with groundshields.”

Dag shook his head, thoughtfully, sorrowfully. “I thought she knew…I never thought…” He paused, thinking, and looked up at his wife. “How do you know all this, and I do not?”

“Why would you know it?” Fawn replied. “You have the apple of your eye following you around, and doing well by most outward appearances – she’s one of the best hunters for miles, she’s a right fair cook, she’s a wonderful big sister and cousin, and she’s better at making potions and such than I am. She would never come to you with these kinds of worries; she wants to look perfect to you. What’s more, let’s just say that even now, talking about feelin’s isn’t what comes to mind first for you.”

“And it’s not that she comes and says to me, ‘Ma, I can’t stand it when Pa helps me with groundwork!’ Or that she complains when we come back from Hickory Lake. It’s more listenin’ when she comes to talk, not asking questions about her, noticing whether she seems happy or sad – letting the quiet do its work. And a fair amount of figuring,” she said.

“But she’s _good_ at groundshields,” Dag burst out. “And it’s not just the persnickety work of braiding the necklace. She’s done good groundwork on the walnuts-and they’re the tentpole of the groundshield. The rest is just finishing up.”

“And unless I’m mistook, you were with her every inch of the way. Didn’t you tell me that you “helped” her a couple of times, doing that last little bit of groundwork to finish things up when she took a misstep? How do you think that sat with her, when you gave her that boost instead of letting her fall down on her own? How much trust do you think she truly puts in her groundsense right now? Do you think she down deep believes that she can do it on her own?”

“Whether she knows it or not, at the last she backed aways from really making a groundshield because if she tried her hardest and failed, she would have failed _you_. And she knows how important it is to you that she _not_ fail. So at the last she didn’t really try. That way, when it didn’t work, she can tell herself she didn’t really let you down. By not really trying, she ducked that arrow.”

This was followed by a long silence; comfortable on her part, uneasy on her husband’s. “What can I do now?” Dag asked. “I just want the best for her, but if I ignore her, it gets worse, and if I help her, it gets worse.”

“The first thing you have to understand is that no matter how much you love to fix things, this isn’t a tangle you can fix,” Fawn replied. “The only one who can fix this is Nattie-Mari, and I trust she will. I bet you do, too, when you think about it. What we can do is let her know that we love her and trust her, as much as ever and even more so, for trying to do something so hard.”

“So you think I should still go to Pearl Riffle tomorrow morning to meet that new healer?”

“Changing your plans and staying home, would be like squeezing a bruise. She’d fell like you think she can’t take care of herself, that you think you have to stay around to patch up her mistakes. Asides, you’ve been planning that trip for months. No, you go – I know you’re looking forward to seeing Barr and his daughter for quite a patch now, and so does Nattie-Mari. It’s only a week – we’ll all be fine. As someone wise once said, it’s ok to put your troubles down for a while. Either they’ll be gone, or still be there when you get back – and you won’t be any worse for the time away from them. Just make sure she has a groundshield on before you go – and I don’t envy you _that_ conversation.

Dag sighed, and stood up. “That’s set, then.” He put his arms around her. “Were you always this wise, or is it just me taking this long to see it?” he teased. He leaned in for a kiss, but was stopped by her finger on his lips.

“Well, I chose you, didn’t I? Despite _my_ family’s opposition, _your_ family’s opposition, and two different camps’ opposition? And three malices? _I_ think that’s a sure sign of wisdom, although there could be those who argue it’s the opposite.” She moved her finger away, and they kissed.

* * *

Nattie-Mari stared down at the braided necklace of horsehair and her own hair, with a walnut woven into it, eyes brimming. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry_ , she told herself.

Fawn, noticing the long silence from her talkative daughter, glanced at Nattie-Mari. After perhaps too long a moment, she said cheerfully “Well, those look like perfectly fine groundshield makings.” Before Fawn could say another word, Nattie-Mari’s tears spilled over, sliding down her cheeks.

“B-b-but it’s _not_ , Mama! It’s supposed to be real _working_ groundshield. This piece of, of trash is _nothing_. It’s only fit for, for…” Nattie-Mari picked up the braided loop, glanced around wildly, and turned to throw it into the open iron oven.

Before Nattie-Mari could move further, Fawn was standing between her and the oven, immovable. “Young woman, I will _not_ have you destroying good work! You put hours into that. Put it down right now.”

Suddenly exhausted, Nattie-Mari dropped the loop and slid down into her chair as Fawn, turning to stir the cauldron on top of the oven, muttered “As if I needed another reminder of your grandmother….”

After a moment, Fawn put the ladle aside and sat down next to Nattie-Mari. “Want to tell me about it, sweetling?”

Nattie-Mari sniffled. “What good would _that_ do, Mama? What good am _I_?”

“Well, you make a particularly fine spiced apple-pear cake, and your potions bring in good coin at the market, and…” Fawn stopped at the sorrow and dawning indignation on her daughter’s face and smiled. “Yes, dear, I shouldn’t tease you. But maybe if you can bring yourself to tell me what’s bothering you, it might be that I could help. And if you don’t tell me about it, I surely _can’t_ help.”

Nattie-Mari let out a deep sighing breath. “Mama, you can’t understand. I have an _obligation_ ," she said. "No matter what anybody Hickory Lake Camp says, I'm half Lakewalker, and Lakewalkers are needed for three things: to kill malices, to protect farmers, and to heal—work _nobody_ else can do. I can’t do healing work, and no Lakewalker clan will ever accept a half-blood for patrolling work to find and kill malices.

“The _one_ thing I’m good for is making groundshields. At least that’s what I thought after Pa and I made that groundshield for Aunt Berry. It really worked!” Her face lit up, then sank. “But that must have been all of Pa’s doing. He was just pretending to make me feel better.”

Fawn replied, “First off, your father did not do any such thing. And you know it. It’s true he jumped in once or twice after that, when you two were working together on groundshields, but I think he knows that was his mistake, not yours. What, did you think you’d get it perfectly, first time and every time? Second, you can’t do healing work _yet_. Do you think healers just wake up one morning and start fixing broken bones? Give yourself some _time_ , darling.”

Nattie-Mari ignored her mother, wiping away her tears with the back of one wrist. "And if I don’t have any groundsense in the first place, why do I dream about killing somebody because I’m so clumsy, or about a malice ripping my ground shield and killing me?" Tears slid down her face. She didn't know which would be worse, letting some trusting patient die because her groundsense – if she ever got any – failed her at a critical moment – sealing off a spurting wound, say – or having one of the energy parasites kill her because she couldn’t shield herself from it. It didn’t matter, because as things were going she’d never be able to do either.

"Dearie," Fawn said, "It’s just plain normal to be scared about something you want so much, and aren't sure you can have. That’s all those bad dreams are. What they mean is you want something so hard – elsewise they wouldn't bother you so much. And as for groundsense, it comes in at different times for different people and you know that. Just look at your father – one of the strongest groundsetters the Lakewalkers have ever known, and he didn't come into his full powers until his fifties. You just give it time. That bit of groundsense I know you have is going to grow, just like you will."

Nattie-Mari was still sniffling. "But Barr's daughter’s been patrolling for 3 years, and she's only 3 years older than I am! Pa showed for patroller when he was _my_ age, Mama. And I'm his daughter. What if this is all the groundsense I'll ever have?"

"Then you'll be one of the best makers of medicine in all the towns, villages and hinterlands," Fawn said. "I've seen you going through my notebooks, and quizzing your cousin Arkady. Your syrups and powders bring in more good coin from Lumpton Market than most farmers see in a year, not to mention camp credit from Hickory Lake and Pearl Riffle. Any Lakewalker camp’d be proud to have you, just like your Pa and I are."

“But what am I going to _do_ , mama? I have to be good for _something_. Even if my groundsense and powers do really come in, how can I do anything if I'm scared of every choice I have? Sure, I've helped Pa maybe a tiny bit with preparing the walnuts for groundshields. But what if I never have any more groundsense than that?" she asked, touching the nut woven into the necklace in front of her.

Her mother smiled and said, "Well those of us without groundsense somehow seem to knock along. Where do you think those notebooks you use to make medicines came from? Do you think they fell off a tree?"

"Oh, mama." Nattie-Mari anxiously fiddled with the braided loop. "You don’t understand. In a Lakewalker camp, a 15-year-old like me would be training up to go on patrol, or for the medicine tent, or making unbreakable rope or coats that can shake off arrows, or _something_. But what Lakewalker camp would take a half-blood? Even at Hickory Lake, Grandma Cumbia still will hardly look crosswise at me. And seems like the rest of them only put up with me because of Pa. You, you're the famous farmer bride who slew a malice with a sharing knife arrow and married the captain of Wolf Ridge—nobody would be fool enough to call you useless."

"Well, you're the _daughter_ of the captain of Wolf Ridge, so I think folk might at least be willing to give you another week or two before they give up on you all together. And there are plenty of Lakewalkers who would still call me something worse than ‘famous’, including your grandma Cumbia," her mama said with a smile. "She still tries to treat your Pa plenty bad, so I wouldn't give her heed. There are plenty of folk at Hickory Lake who would give you a fair shot, starting with Fairbolt Crow. And more people respect your father than your grandma, by a fair shot.”

“Your Pa loves you more than breath, and even more, he respects your abilities, too – whether you know it or not. Have you ever seen him apprenticing any other patroller young’uns to help make groundshields? He chose you for a reason, and not just because you’re his daughter.” Fawn paused and drank some tea.

"Darling, right now, I don't know if you're scared of choosing, waiting, or failing—and neither do you. There are too many "maybes" and "what ifs" to be worrying yourself like this. You know what I truly think, my-growing-up-so-fast not-fast-enough daughter? I think you will be _astonishing_ at whatever you finally light on—like your father. Because one thing I know about both of you is that _neither_ of you _ever_ give up." Fawn paused, and, with a smile, said, "Sometimes it might be easier for me if you did.

“But Mama, what if Pa is still mad at me? I was so mean to him, and he hardly said nary a word to me before he left, just made a groundshield. What if he thinks my feelings are too strong for me to make groundshields, or do healings, or, or _anything_?”

"I know for certain that your Pa wasn’t and isn’t mad at you – we talked about it before he left. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he just didn’t know what to say? Coming up with words in a hurry has never been his way. He’s due back today; you can ask him yourself when he gets home.”

Nattie-Mari looked skeptical, and Fawn said, “That’s enough maybes and what ifs for one day. Your brother is Aunt Berry and her twins and her daughters. They're playing ‘Lakewalkers go down the Grey,’ whatever that is. With luck that’ll keep ‘em busy enough for Berry to get some rest; she tires so easily with the new baby on the way. If she doesn't need a hand, you can go hunting if you want – you always enjoy that. We could use something fresh for the stewpot – maybe some squirrel, or even a turkey if you flush one.

"As for me, I'm all packed and set to leave for Aunt Clover’s to help for a while with _her_ new baby. I'll be back in four days, so see if you can keep your brothers and the twins from tearing down the house until then. If you want to take them swimming in the pond, they'll enjoy that. Or, you're better at reading and writing than I ever was, so if you want to, you can try to get something to stick inside their heads. Maybe you can offer swimming as a treat after a good lesson. And give yourself a treat, too – how about if you make that spiced apple-pear cake you like so much?"

Nattie-Mari perked up at this almost-bribe. Mama never put quite enough honey in the frosting of her cake, so this time Nattie-Mari could indulge her sweet tooth.

"And be sure to leave some for everyone else, especially your father and Uncle Arkady and Aunt Sumac. The three of them are supposed to coming back this afternoon from Hickory Lake, from showing off Sumac and Arkady's new baby to the relatives. You won't be on your own for long." Fawn reached out to touch her daughter's cheek, and smiled. “Maybe you’d better make two cakes – one for you, and one for everyone else!"

With that, Nattie-Mari smiled back, letting out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her mama trusted her. How bad could things really be? "I'll take care of it all, Mama. You can count on me." One last hug, and Fawn headed for the door. "Mama?" Nattie-Mari called out. Fawn turned back. "Thank you, Mama."

"You'll be fine, darling, with my being gone and everything else."

* * *

After a short walk on the warm spring mid-day to Aunt Berry’s new home – not far from the gentle stream that gave the growing settlement of Clearcreek its name – Nattie-Mari saw that her brothers and sister were safe and sound – or at least there were no large new bruises or flowing blood. Aunt Berry said, "You just scoot along. The littles are not a bit of bother. iI fact they’re inventing new games by the minute. I think this one is called ‘The Bear Stuck in the Tree.’

"You know, Nattie-Mari, I never would have believed it before becoming a mama, but five children can entertain themselves ever so much more than one can, and don't need anywhere's near the attention. And besides, you deserve some time to yourself, young lady. Take it, before something else comes up! We'll be fine for a few hours. Where are you going hunting?"

Nattie-Mari gave her aunt a grateful hug. "I'm thinking to try the meadow near the hilltop trail—where I got that turkey before. With luck, I'll bring a bit of something for you. I know Uncle Whit would if he were here instead of taking that flatboat down the Grace for trade."

Aunt Berry sighed, but smiled. Nattie-Mari wasn’t sure if the sigh was for Berry’s absent husband or the lack of fresh meat in her larder. "I'm sure Whit will be back soon. He may have his, umm, _impractical_ moments in some ways, but he's came to be a fine father and provider." Nattie-Mari, who knew her Uncle Whit mostly as the sometimes-present man who brought her toys and treats from faraway places, smiled and turned for the door. On her way out, Aunt Berry called, "I see you're taking that bolas rope-thing Whit brought you. Is this the first time you're using it for real hunting?"

Nattie-Mari turned, and gestured to her waist, where the three-headed bolas was looped up. "Well, I reckon I've been practicing enough…so far, there's not a tree I can't catch, so it's about time I tried it out for real. Uncle Whit said the folks he got it from to catch birds, goats and even deer with it, throwing so it wraps around their legs. Or so they told him, anyway. I figure I can at least catch a turkey. If it works, it could save me a parcel of fetching back missed arrows."

Aunt Berry snorted. "From what I hear, you miss maybe one in 10, and that would be on a bad day. I think you just want to play with your new toy." Nattie-Mari gave her aunt a lopsided grin in reply and headed out the door.

* * *

Nattie-Mari finished the jerky and dried fruit she'd brought for lunch, and swigged some water from her flask. Then she stood up, brushed off her britches where she'd been sitting on the ground, and strapped her gear back on: knife, medicine kit, bolas, bow and full quiver. She hadn't had any luck since she’d left her aunt and cousins at their farm, but she'd been too close to Clearcreek to expect anything much bigger than squirrels, or the occasional rabbit. She'd take one of those if she had to, but she was hoping for something bigger (and, she admitted, more impressive). She headed up the trail towards a meadow where deer sometimes grazed.

But when she finally left the trail and reached the meadow, there were no deer in sight. In fact, the woods seemed uncommonly quiet. Even the breeze drying off her sweat from the uphill hike didn’t seem to rustle the trees. Looking intently, there was scant sign of any animals – deer, squirrels, rabbits or anything else. Plenty of scat, but no animals. Had a catamount come round and scared them?

Nattie-Mari sniffed the air, the way her Pa had taught her. She didn’t scent any carnivore musk. Still, she was careful as she continued up the deer path leading through the meadow back to the trail. She eased off the path and into the woods, peering into the shadows to see if she could spot—

Were those voices? The faint sounds came from her left, up ahead on the trail she was heading for. It sounded like two people grumbling or arguing, but somehow strange. Were some hunters here already? Had that scared the animals?

Cautious, she crouched behind a tree and peeked out. Was that two people in the distance? It was definitely two _somethings_ , but their shapes were off. She poked at her memory, trying to recollect where she’d seen something like them. Something her groundsetter cousin Arkady had shown…absent gods, were those _mudmen_?

She slid back behind the trunk, heart pounding, breath coming hard. What were mudmen doing _here_ , so near to Clearcreek? And if these were mudmen, there had to be a malice not far behind.

Nattie-Mari took another quick, careful look around the tree. Yes, two mudmen, looked like they came from a fox and a rabbit. The pitiful weird creatures were enslaved to a malice, ground-forced into human-like shape and size, and captive to its bidding. They were probably looking for humans to enslave, or worse.

 _Absent gods, what to do_? She could kill the mudmen with her bow and arrows, but she didn't have a sharing knife to kill the malice, and there weren't any at home. Pa had one, but he might still be hours away. By that time, the malice would already be at Clearcreek and—Aunt Berry and the children! With that, she started moving quickly and quietly through the woods towards home.

Her thoughts flew wildly. What was a malice doing _here_? Could she get home quickly enough? Could all of them get away quickly enough? And what about their neighbors, and the horses? If the mudmen or the malice got close enough, they could just tear off everyone’s groundshield necklaces, leaving them to be enslaved, or even devoured, by the malice.

Think, she told herself, _think_! What would Pa do? He’d, he’d, he'd _go for help_ , that’s what he’d do. But I _am_ the help, she thought—without Pa, there’s no one else within miles with a lick of groundsense. Maybe if she ripped off her groundshield necklace, her Pa would feel the distress in her ground and come to help? But what if he was still too far away? Then the malice would eat her ground like…

Her thoughts slowed, and she unconsciously slowed her pace to match. What did she know about malices? They were made of ground; their bodies were just bits and pieces they grabbed – stones, animals, clothes, people. They lived on ground, and they would leach away a person’s ground to the death – ground was what they ate to survive. And if they didn’t kill someone, they’d turn them into a mind-slave.

How could you stop a malice? The only way Nattie-Mari knew of was to stab it with a sharing knife. _That_ didn’t help – she didn’t have a sharing knife, and there was no way to get one without days of riding.

Her thoughts sped back up to a run. _Warn everybody, get them moving_ , she thought. What else could she do? _Was_ there anything else she could do? Her thoughts kept circling back to groundshields. Making groundshields was the only Lakewalkerish thing she maybe was able how to do – that is, if that one she’d made for Aunt Berry with her Pa wasn’t just a fluke, or worse still, a trick. All of her kin back at Clearcreek had groundshields, but none of the neighbors did. Even if she could make groundshields, could she make enough in time to protect the neighbors? No; there were too many people; even if she could, it would take too long.

She couldn’t save everybody; the only way to protect them was to _beat_ the malice. But how? Even if she killed the mudmen, that wouldn't stop the malice itself, or really even slow it down –Clearcreek would be a feast, once it got there. There wasn't time to dig a pit to trap it, if that would even work. No, no, there _must_ be something else.

What could she do? Her thoughts were frantic and too slow, all together and all at once. Malices needed ground to exist; that’s why they ate the ground of living things around them…groundshields blocked a person’s ground from flowing to a malice…ground can’t get through a groundshield…and a person’s ground fueled their groundshield. Her hand rose slowly to her neck. She _might_ be able to make a groundshield, she’d maybe made one once….

Nattie-Mari looked back up the hill. No sign of the mudmen. She knew this hillside, this country, like her own front yard. At the mudmen’s slow pace, she could run to warn Aunt Berry and still get back to the trail before they even got out of the woods. So… yes, an ambush at the turn in the trail just before it left the hillside could work, she thought. If she could kill the mudmen soon enough, if her stupid farmgirl idea worked, if….

Enough ifs. Warn Aunt Berry, and save her kin and neighbors, as best she could. Then head back. Either her plan would work, or it wouldn’t.

Nattie-Mari _ran_.

* * *

Nattie-Mari stood behind her chosen oak tree, panting, with her hands on her knees. She’d warned everyone she could, they’d warn the others, _and_ _she was back in time_. Now, if the rest of her crazy farmgirl plan would just work…

She checked her bow, loosened her quiver, and made sure that her knife, medicine kit and bolas were attached to her belt. Was she missing anything? Too late to do anything about it now, she thought. She leaned silently against the tree, listening, its rough bark reassuring. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and caught her breath. Nothing yet….

A short while later she heard something up the trail. A careful peek around the tree revealed the mudmen, still arguing, and—praise be to absent gods—no malice in sight. She picked up her bow, nocked an arrow, and waited.

As the mudmen came closer, she lifted her bow, nocked an arrow, pulled the bowstring back. They sounded about 15 feet away. She relaxed, empty of thoughts, the way her Pa had taught her. She took a slow breath and let it out partway. Then she moved to one side of the tree and loosed the arrow at the eye of the fox-man, the more dangerous target, and the one she didn't need for her plan. Before the fox-man was even down, she put arrows into the rabbit-man's gut, shoulder, and hip joints. She needed it immobile but _alive_ , at least for a little bit.

She dropped her bow and quiver and ran towards the mudmen. The fox-man was sprawled, with nary a twitch. Not breathing. Done. The rabbit-man was flat, too, but thrashing and making an eerie wail. Its movements slowed.

She knelt next to the dying rabbit-man. "I am sorry," she said, kneeling next to it. "There's no other way." She pulled the bolas, knife and medicine kit from her belt, opened the medicine kit, and took out the pine pitch. She trimmed some hair—maybe just longer fur—from the dying rabbit-man's head, dipped it in the blood from its wounded shoulder, and used the pine pitch to help braid it into the bolas. The weights at the ends of the ropes could stand in for a walnut, she hoped. She’d done the groundwork on the weights right when she’d been waiting at the tree, if she wasn’t just fooling herself.

Nattie-Mari felt the burden of her doubts for a long moment, remembering her plan: If a groundshield on a _person_ drew down the person’s ground to make a barrier that kept ground from coming in or out, what would happen to a _malice,_ whose entire _existence_ depended on _drawing in_ ground, if it had a groundshield on it?

But for a groundshield to work, it had to have a bit of the bearer's own ground in it. She remembered Pa's story about one time trying to take ground from a malice. If she'd read aright the look on her mama's face, it had almost killed him. So that couldn't work.

But wasn't a malice’s ground woven into its _mudmen_? Could she use _that_ to get malice ground without killing herself? Well, either her plan would work or it wouldn’t. If it didn’t, she’d be dead in minutes. But if it _did_ …

With her groundshield still on, she couldn’t do any ground work, couldn’t even _try_ to make her plan work. She tore it off, leaving her ground exposed and vulnerable to the approaching malice. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and tried to push some of the dying mudman’s ground into what she was trying to make.

She paused, took a slow breath in and out, and tried again, pushing as hard as she could. Harder. _Hardest_.

Emptiness. Nothing.

Despair and dread overcame her. "I'm sorry, mama. I know I promised. I tried my best…the littles….." Tears slid down her cheeks.

Then from somewhere she heard, or maybe felt, her mother's voice. ".… just like your father, you _never_ give up." And with that, some deep tightness in her relaxed, and _flowed_. She whispered "Mama, you’re right. Even if that malice eats me whole, I'm _not_ giving up."

With all the love and fear in her heart, she _pulled_ at the rabbit-man’s ground with her own groundsense and _pushed_ at the bolas. Nothing.

Doubt started to push in at the edge of her awareness. She pulled and pushed _harder_. Then suddenly, eyes still closed, she _saw_ the world flicker and come into focus in a new way. It was both more and less than normal sight – with stunning clarity and impact. _So_ this _is what it's like for Pa_ , she thought. Maybe her farmgirl idea would work. Maybe.

And that thought brought her back to the dying rabbit-man and the bolas. Eyes shut, she _looked_ at them with her new vision. _So that's how Pa does this!_ She reached out in a way she couldn't describe and _pulled_ the rabbit-man's ground, twined with the malice's, even harder. The ground started to slide into the bolas! Was she contaminating herself with malice ground? Worry about that later; finish getting the ground into the bolas _now_.

As her groundsense faded, the bolas felt like a good making, as best she could see. Would her groundsense ever come back? No time for that now. She picked up the bolas and ran up the trail. Delay could only give the malice more time.

She rounded a bend in the trail, swinging the bolas, and there was the malice. It was rough-looking, like a man-sized doll pasted together from rock and rotting wood. It smelled like decay. As it came into view, it seemed to shift its attention from somewhere else—maybe the dead mudmen—and moved towards her. Something horrible tugged painfully inside her, draining her strength as the malice began to eat her ground.

With a wordless cry she threw the bolas, and fell to her knees.

A timeless moment later, she looked up. The bolas had hit the malice square and wrapped completely around it, with its ends overlapped, entwined, making a full complete loop around what passed for its neck. Would it work? Would her maybe-not-stupid idea _work_?

The horrible tugging stopped, and she started to creep away, eyes still focused on the malice. Was it working? If the groundshield was working, it was drawing ground _from_ the malice, to _isolate_ the malice. So the harder the malice tried to break through the groundshield, the more the groundshield should be taking ground _from_ the malice, making the groundshield stronger, and the malice weaker. Was it working?

The bolas started to smoke, and then to glow. Bits began to fall off the malice, as the ground holding it together was used up attacking and strengthening the groundshield at the same time. Nattie-Mari had a sudden horrible thought: what if it used its arms to take the groundshield off? With sudden desperation, she pushed herself up and moved towards it, shouting "You want my ground? Mmmm, yummy ground! Come and get it, you malice!" Could she keep it distracted from the groundshield?

The malice started walking towards her, but paused, and stumbled. It kept shambling, but more and more slowly, as more parts fell away. Finally, it stopped, losing part after part, until there was just a heap of stinking remnants on the ground.

Nattie-Mari took a step closer, and tried to use her groundsense to see if anything was left of the malice. But nothing happened—had she used up her groundsense for good? Would it ever come back? She thought about poking the loose malice parts with a stick, but decided to just leave everything inside the circle of the dimming bolas groundshield, just in case some malice shred remained.

Now what? The mudmen were certainly dead, and so was the malice, as best she could tell—certainly it wasn’t moving anymore. Could she leave it here and go look for her Pa? Was there anything else that it made sense to do? Was there anything else she _could_ do here?

She went back to the mudmen bodies to pick up her knife and medicine kit, and went back to the tree for her bow and quiver. She strapped everything on, took a last look at the mudmen bodies, and headed down the trail. She only taken a few slow steps past a bend in the trail when she heard galloping hoofbeats heading her way. She starting crying in earnest when she saw her Pa riding Copperhead at full lather.

She ran to him; he swung off his horse and grabbed her up in his arms. " _Are you alright?_ " He looked at her with eyes and groundsense, and asked "What on _earth_ did you do with your ground? If I didn't know better, I'd swear you're aiming for maker! And what's this story I heard from Berry about a malice and mudmen?"

Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him up the trail. When they got to the mudmen, he squatted down and said "Nice shooting. Not that I'd expect anything less, Eldest.” They walked over to the pile of malice parts. “But how did you stop the malice? You didn't have a sharing knife, and there weren't any at home."

In a gulping voice, Nattie-Mari explained her idea that a bolas could form a ground shield, using blood and ground from the mudman. They walked over to the remains of the malice. Her Pa took on that distracted look he had when he used his groundsense.

"Huh," he said, "Not a trace of malice left here. And that poor groundshield is burnt to a crisp. Well, before you become a maker, if you do, I think we have to give you a regular ground-shaker of a bow-down."

"Bow-down?" she asked.

"I know you've heard stories about the party after a patroller's first malice kill. I think maybe we should have yours at Hickory Lake—I can hardly wait to see the look on Grandma Cumbia’s face. And one more thing, patroller girl. I think you're not going to be bothered by those dreams any more. In fact, I think there might be too many company captains competing for you to give you the time for them. That is, if the healers and makers give you any time to sleep at all," he said with a lopsided grin.

She looked down, finally taking it all in. _She'd killed a malice_. On her own. And she had groundsense, real groundsense. Huh, she thought. She felt warm, calm, deep-down….proud? She looked up at her Pa. "We'd best be back home—I still have a cake to make. Two cakes, in fact. And you," she grabbed his sleeve and gave his arm a shake, "don't you ever be late like this again!"

He laughed and grabbed her, and she hugged him back, laughing and crying all at once. In a bit, they walked over to Copperhead. Her Pa mounted first, gave Nattie-Mari a swing up, and they started home. After a bit, he started singing old patroller songs. She joined in on the chorus, singing the rude words she wasn’t supposed to know . After a snort of laughter from her Pa, they sang together.

-FIN-


End file.
